


Never Mind The Unicorns

by Marbled Wings (LynxRyder)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anathema throws a party, Blessings all round, Brief Mention of Underage Drinking, Christmas, Crowley maybe forgot to mention it, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Someone's got to be Father Christmas, and suffers the consequences, ugly christmas jumpers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:33:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21922225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynxRyder/pseuds/Marbled%20Wings
Summary: When Aziraphale and Crowley arrive at Anathema's Christmas party, they are surprised to learn that Aziraphale has been assigned a very special role in proceedings. Well, if he's got to do it, he's dragging Crowley down with him.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	Never Mind The Unicorns

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to dress them up XD!

Anathema’s cottage was lit up like a firework. Each of the trees in the front garden was carefully adorned with tiny white lights while a rainbow of colours cascaded down from the roof of the house. Aziraphale was quite charmed by it all and exclaimed aloud at the exquisite beauty of the wreath of sprayed silver and gold foliage that greeted them at the door.

‘How wonderful!’

Crowley, apparently, was not in agreement. Beside him, he suppressed a small shudder. Aziraphale reached for his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

‘We don’t have to stay long.’

‘You say that now,’ muttered Crowley, darkly. The coloured lights reflected in his glasses made a sharp contrast with his expression.

‘I mean it,’ said Aziraphale, ‘We can just show our faces and then…’

The door before them opened before either had a chance to knock. There, in a high necked green dress that sparkled with silver sequins, was Anathema. 

‘You’re late!’

They were. Crowley’s fault though Aziraphale would never have dreamed of saying so to their host.

‘Terribly sorry, my dear. It was the…’ He searched his mind for an excuse that would seem plausible and settled for, ‘Traffic.’

Beside him, Crowley snorted. There was only one occasion where traffic had proved to be an impediment to his reckless speeding and this evening was certainly not it. Aziraphale was suddenly acutely aware of their hands, still joined. If Anathema had noticed, she did not seem surprised.

‘Just glad you’re here,’ she said, looking incredibly relieved, ‘We didn’t have a back-up plan.’

As she ushered them inside, Aziraphale looked over at Crowley who appeared just as confused as he was.

‘Right, Aziraphale,’ said Anathema, the moment the door closed behind them, ‘You’ll want to change, best to do it upstairs. Quickly, before any of the kids see you. Crowley, can I get you a drink?’

Aziraphale experienced a flash of alarm. Had he missed some key information contained within the invitation? No, he couldn’t have done because there hadn’t been a formal invitation, only a text to Crowley’s phone. Aziraphale remembered the exchange that had followed vividly:

_‘The witch is having a Christmas party.’_

_‘How lovely.’_

_‘Wants you there.’_

_‘Us, surely.’_

_‘She specifically mentions you.’_

_‘But Crowley, the message was sent to your phone. She must wish you to be there. Let me see.’_

It had not struck Aziraphale as odd at the time that Crowley would not show him Anathema’s message, thinking only that he had wished to find a way to have Aziraphale attend the party alone but now, it seemed, there was more to it.

‘Up you go then.’

As Anathema gestured pointedly at the narrow staircase, Aziraphale shot a helpless look at Crowley who had been distracted by the prospect of alcohol. And was that a smile tugging at the corner of his lips? Aziraphale hardly had the time to let the suspicion settle before Anathema was shepherding him towards the stairs with the words, ‘Quick as you can. The kids are wired, not sure how much longer we can keep them occupied. Use the bedroom, everything’s ready for you.’

It did not appear as if he had a great deal of choice. Overcoming his awkwardness at entering Anathema’s bedroom was the first difficulty. Crossing the threshold felt unforgivably intimate and for what possible reason? Aziraphale did not have the first clue as to what he might find inside and as a result he found himself peering rather apprehensively around the room.

The bed was beautifully made with a dark bedspread, the rest of the room clean and tidy, the curtains open to reveal the dark sky beyond. It appeared that Anathema had been mistaken, Aziraphale could see nothing that might have been intended for him. He was about to turn around, ready to seek answers and clarification from their host when he noticed that there was a suit cover hanging from the top of the wardrobe door. Anathema had told him to get changed, had she not? Had everyone been through this strange performance upon entering the house? Was it some occultish ritual Anathema insisted upon? She had not pounced upon Crowley in a similar manner though, all he had been offered was a drink. Though, Aziraphale reasoned, an actual demon was likely to count as occult enough for even the most ardent of witches.

Aziraphale prodded the bag, uncertain whether he even wanted to open it but he supposed he could not very well face Anathema unless he had at least glanced inside. None of the other guests, as fleeting a glimpse as he had been allowed of them, had been attired in anything unforgivably ludicrous so it stood to reason that Anathema’s dress code, whatever it might be, might well be considered tolerable at least for the duration of the evening. With a feeling of resignation, Aziraphale reached for the clothes bag and undid the zip. It took three seconds for him to cast the thing aside – one for first glance to become realisation, two for realisation to morph into shock and three for that shock to subside enough for him to do the only thing he felt was appropriate given the circumstances.

‘Crowley!’

Aziraphale was aware of a hush falling over the party goers downstairs. Ordinarily he would have been embarrassed for causing such a disturbance but considering the situation it was a miracle he had not simply snapped his fingers and caused Crowley to appear beside him, witnesses be damned.

‘Angel, why on earth did you…?’

Crowley had barely had a chance to enter the room when Aziraphale rounded on him. Unfortunately he was immediately distracted by Crowley’s jumper, a neon pink affair which clashed spectacularly with his hair. Two knitted unicorns, rearing up on their hind legs, framed the wobbly words ‘Sleigh The Patriarchy’. Aziraphale stared, taken aback. Crowley had certainly not been wearing anything of the sort when he had left the house.

‘Like it?’ Crowley asked with a smirk, ‘Newt made it, apparently. The boy might have some talent, after all. Unicorns are a nice touch.’

‘Never mind the unicorns,’ said Aziraphale, suddenly remembering why he had summoned Crowley in the first place, ‘Did you know about this?’

‘Know about…?’

Aziraphale pointed. Crowley, in response, peered around him to look over at the bed where a full Father Christmas costume could be seen complete with fake fur trim, enormously wide belt and a ludicrously over the top white beard. Crowley's jaw dropped. 

‘Oh shit,’ he said, ‘I thought she was joking.’

‘Crowley!’

Crowley, who looked on the edge of the kind of laughter that was going to cut Aziraphale wide open, bit down hard on his lip and took a series of deep breaths before he risked his next words.

‘Honestly, angel,’ he said, his voice slightly choked, ‘I had no idea she was being serious.’

‘You knew!’

Crowley, sunglass shielded, looked up. He did not seem to understand the cause of Aziraphale’s distress. Really, he might have mentioned this was a possibility. It was completely unacceptable to spring a thing like this on a person without warning. Absurdly, Aziraphale felt tears pricking at his eyes.

‘I won’t do it, Crowley. I shall simply refuse.’

‘Relax, angel, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.’

Aziraphale, who had been gearing himself up for a litany of very strident excuses, found himself abruptly brought up short.

‘I don’t?’

‘Course not,’ said Crowley.

‘But…’ Aziraphale stammered, remembering how Anathema had greeted them at the door, ‘The children…’

A burst of excited laughter travelled up the stairs at that moment, bouncing through the door Crowley had left open followed by the hushing of several adults. Perhaps Anathema was rounding the children up now, telling them all they wouldn’t have to wait much longer. Aziraphale began to twist his pinkie ring around his finger, his brows creased in worry. Tentatively, he lifted his eyes to Crowley.

‘I don’t suppose you’d consider…?’

Any trace of amusement was wiped sharply from Crowley’s face. Clearly he had understood perfectly the question Aziraphale could not quite bring himself to finish. As he removed his glasses, Aziraphale felt something heavy drop into his stomach. The bedroom was not terribly well lit, Crowley’s eyes bright in the gloom, vertical pupils on full display.

‘And what can Satan bring you this year, children?’ he asked, with only a trace of the bitterness Aziraphale knew ran right through the core of him, ‘Pitchfork, perhaps? Some boiling sulphur for use on your enemies?’

‘Right, yes,’ said Aziraphale, before suggesting weakly, ‘You could keep the glasses on perhaps?’

‘I intend to,’ said Crowley, replacing them and giving Aziraphale the kind of tight lipped smile that twisted its way right into the angel’s heart. Aziraphale was still trying to think of a way for them to shake off the sad mood that had descended over both of them when Crowley turned abruptly back towards the door.

‘Come on, angel. Can’t hide up here all night. I’ll tell Anathema she needs to find someone else to play dress up.’

‘Who?’ Aziraphale asked, casting his eyes over the costume once more. It certainly looked as if Anathema had spared no expense, the red velvet in particular looked incredibly soft.

‘I don’t know,’ said Crowley, ‘Newt?’

Aziraphale frowned, imagining how awkwardly the suit would hang from the boy’s skinny frame.

‘He wouldn’t be terribly convincing.’

‘Shadwell then,’ said Crowley, barley suppressing a shudder at the name.

‘Absolutely not,’ said Aziraphale, outraged at the very idea.

‘Well, there’ll be someone,’ said Crowley, waving his hand airily as if he was losing all interest in the matter, ‘Doesn’t matter who. Kids just want a present, right? Don’t really believe in anything anymore, do they?’

‘Don’t they?’

Aziraphale found he was rather upset by this thought. All the Father Christmas business still felt very modern. The giddy excitement produced by a red suit and a white beard, the stockings hung on Christmas eve and the letters with their childish wishes should, Aziraphale supposed, have made him feel uneasy, lessening as they did Jesus’s pivotal role in proceedings, but Aziraphale rather liked the spectacle of it and there was no denying that the overnight appearance of presents under the tree appealed to the magician in him.

‘I do wish you had warned me,’ said Aziraphale, even as he felt his resistance to the whole idea softening, ‘Asked me even. It’s the surprise more than anything.’

‘Said I was sorry,’ Crowley muttered, though he had not, in fact, said anything of the sort, ‘Misjudged things a bit. Anyway, don’t worry, I’ll break the news to the witch. Won’t be you who’s in trouble for ruining the party.’

‘Will it?’ Aziraphale asked, picking up the pair of white gloves and running them through his fingers. ‘Ruin the party, do you think?’

‘One way to find out.’

Crowley adjusted the sleeves of his hideous jumper then moved towards the door. Aziraphale, however, stayed put. He could hear more excited voices, more laughter followed by a prolonged squeal from a child who simply could not hold back their joy any longer. 

‘Angel?’

Crowley was a raised eyebrow question mark. He would not make Aziraphale feel guilty for refusing this unexpected assignment and re-joining the party. They could have the evening Aziraphale had been looking forward to and if Crowley did feel guilty, well, Aziraphale was not above using that to his advantage. On the other hand, the gloves did fit marvellously well.

‘I have an idea,’ Aziraphale said, not quite meeting Crowley’s eyes. 

Crowley was standing very still anticipating, entirely correctly, that he was not going to enjoy what came next. Aziraphale’s courage faltered slightly but, he reminded himself, this situation was at least partially Crowley’s fault and if he was going to do this, he really did not want to be doing it alone. Better not to explain beforehand, Aziraphale thought as he lifted his hand and clicked his fingers.

* * *

Anathema had watched her mother throw a great many parties, they had all seemed to go without a hitch no matter how many people were invited or what extravagant entertainments had been arranged. Anathema, it seemed, did not possess her mother’s gifts for hosting.

‘We’ve run out of ice.’

Newt, pink faced and looking adorably ridiculous in his reindeer jumper and matching antler headgear, had appeared beside her to give her this piece of crucial information. Anathema gritted her teeth.

‘Ice is the least of my concerns.’

The caterers had grossly underestimated the demand for their canapes and were scrambling to produce more, she had just caught the Them taking it in turns to sip from a stolen bottle of wine, and the younger children, up past their bedtime and high on sugar, were about five minutes from tearing the whole place apart in their eagerness to meet Father Christmas. And Newt had come to her about ice.

‘I’ll go out and get some, shall I?’ Newt asked, looking ready to bolt.

‘Don’t you dare.’

It had been over half an hour since she had sent Aziraphale upstairs and there was still no sign of him. The fact that Crowley had followed him up there was of slight concern. Anathema was no fool, she had noted the way they had been holding hands on her doorstep, but surely they wouldn’t be…not at her party…

‘Right,’ she said, partly because a decision needed to be made but also because she needed to clear certain images from her mind, ‘I’m going to check on…’

But before she could finish her sentence, there came the sound of bells and from beyond the dark windows looking out into the garden lights sprang to life marking out a path to the gazebo she had set up hours earlier. Only it no longer resembled the slightly battered tent strung with fairy lights that it had been when she had last seen it. Now, at the end of her garden, was a tiny, wooden cabin, dusted with what looked suspiciously like real snow, an impossibility considering the mild weather. Everyone had turned towards the spectacle, some of the adults breaking into spontaneous applause, when one of the village children, a tiny little girl no older than three pressed two sticky hands to the doors leading towards the garden.

‘Pony!’ she cried.

The other children pressed in around her, their breath misting the glass. Anathema moved closer too, confused. She too could see something moving in the shadows.

‘That’s not a pony,’ said Pepper.

‘It’s a deer,’ Wensleydale said, ‘Isn’t it?’

‘We get deer in the garden sometimes,’ said Brian.

‘Not that kind,’ said Adam, in that tone of his that brokered no argument, ‘Those are reindeer.’

The children closest to him began to repeat the word, the smallest ones jumping up and down.

‘Reindeer! They’re Santa’s reindeer!’

Anathema glanced at Newt who returned her look with eyes stretched wide.

‘Umm…everyone, wait here. I’ll just check and see whether Santa is ready for you.’

She gave Newt a meaningful keep-them-here look before slipping out into the darkness. In the quiet, the sound of reindeer chowing down on her lawn mingled with the gentle jingling of bells on their red harnesses. And then, above these magical sounds, and getting louder the closer she got to the grotto, the sound of two supernatural entities bickering enthusiastically.

‘What the heaven was that?’

‘There’s no need to be rude. I specifically asked for constructive criticism.’

‘Is it my fault you sound so sinister? I’ve heard cheerier laughs in Hell. To think I was worried that _I_ would scare the children.’ 

‘Any time you’d like to demonstrate the proper technique for ho-ho-hoing, please be my guest.’ 

Torn between amusement and exasperation, Anathema hurried to interrupt this heated exchange before anyone else could overhear. Newt, as lovely as he might be, was unlikely to be able to keep the children inside for long. In hindsight, Anathema regretted not leaving the task to Adam. As she drew closer, little details became apparent from real icicles hanging from the roof of the cabin to the wreath of real candy canes adorning the door. The children were going to lose their minds. The moment she knocked, silence fell within.

‘Go on then,’ said Aziraphale, who was clearly aiming for a deeper version of his usual voice.

‘It’s only the witch,’ replied Crowley.

‘You still need to open the door.’

There was a long pause and then Anathema was treated to one of the most theatrical sighs she had ever heard. Despite this, she was entirely unprepared for the sight that greeted her when the door opened. 

The inside of the little cabin was warm and bright, a red and gold strewn Christmas tree standing in the corner while in the centre, on a throne like golden chair, sat Aziraphale. Dressed in the costume Anathema had procured for him he certainly looked the part, especially as the fake beard had been discarded in favour of what Anathema strongly suspected was the real thing. Under ordinary circumstances, Anathema would have felt compelled to tell him how wonderful he looked and thank him profusely for the extra effort he had gone to but it was incredibly difficult to concentrate on Aziraphale while Crowley was standing so close to her, looking in that moment like the world’s most murderous elf.

‘This is your fault,’ he snapped, all but bearing his teeth at her as she took in the pointed shoes, the red tights, the green outfit and the ridiculous hat that had been squashed over his flaming hair.

‘Me?’ Anathema managed to choke out, ‘I never said anything about you being involved!’

Crowley glowered at her and it was only the knowledge that he was perfectly capable of incinerating her on the spot that kept Anathema from laughing herself sick.

‘Right,’ she said, forcing herself to concentrate on Aziraphale who, really, looked no less absurd but in a more familiar way, ‘You guys ready? Should I get the kids?’

Aziraphale squirmed uneasily on his huge chair and did not answer. Beside him was a little stool for the children to sit on, a reindeer with a red nose painted on the seat, and behind him was a sack full of presents. Everything looked and seemed ready and yet neither Aziraphale nor Crowley seemed keen on proceeding.

‘What’s wrong?’ Anathema asked, looking between them both for clues. Crowley merely crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling, though who or what he was invoking was anyone’s guess. Aziraphale glanced over at him and then met Anathema’s eyes, worry dancing through the blue.

‘I’m not certain this is a good idea.’

‘Why not? You look great!’

Aziraphale looked down at himself briefly but even this did not appear to convince him.

‘I’m…I don’t want to frighten the children.’

Anathema could have leapt in to tell him that this was ridiculous but truthfully, when she stopped to really consider it, she could see his point. She had grown used to his presence, to the sense of power and impossibility that surrounded him at all times. It occurred to her then that keeping his aura in check was a conscious and exhausting thing for him to do, that it was an effort not to frighten those around him and that perhaps it was harder to hide his true self from children who were naturally much more sensitive to everything around them. Anathema considered her very limited options. She really should have thought all of this through.

‘You won’t.’

She looked round to see Crowley directing all of his attention towards Aziraphale, his expression serious but otherwise unreadable.

‘Crowley,’ said Aziraphale, in a quiet, sad sort of voice, ‘You said I was sinister.’

‘Only the laugh so don’t do it. Bloody weird thing to do anyway. And I can help, with the kids. They won’t be scared.’

The way he said it, falteringly, with a sideways glance at Anathema, made her realise that Crowley was anxious too. Did he think she might believe him to be a threat to the children? If Anathema had known what a lot of drama she was letting herself in for she would definitely have given herself more time to prepare. Still, no point in regrets or revelations borne of hindsight now.

‘Sounds like you’re both ready,’ she said, sticking a business like smile on her face, ‘I assume you found the presents I bought for the kids?’

Crowley sniffed and Aziraphale looked decidedly shifty.

‘I’ll take that as a yes, shall I?’

‘It’s under control,’ said Crowley, ‘Now, let’s get this over with.’

Anathema retreated but before she closed the door she caught a glimpse of the smile Aziraphale bestowed upon Crowley, the warmth of his love bursting outwards so that even the reindeer waiting outside looked up, shaking themselves, the sound of their tinkling bells following Anathema back to the house.

* * *

The next time Anathema opened the door, it was to admit the first child. Aziraphale, who had been rehearsing the words he intended to use over and over again for the last few minutes, promptly forgot his script as a pair of wide, wonder-filled eyes peered up at him. Crowley cleared his throat, reminding Aziraphale of the role he was there to play.

‘Ah!’ he boomed, far more loudly than intended, ‘Merry Christmas!’

The child took a tentative step towards him but when Aziraphale indicated the stool beside his chair, the child looked at it warily and then froze. Aziraphale wondered whether a kindly laugh might be appropriate, something to fill the awkward silence, but he was afraid of spooking the child yet further. Fortunately Crowley did not have to be prompted to fulfil his promise and come to the rescue. Dropping down into a crouch, he gave the child a gentle smile.

‘It’s okay,’ he said, ‘You can stay here, if you want to. You don’t have to go any closer.’

The child looked briefly relieved before his little forehead creased with worry once more. He looked beseechingly at Crowley and then, in that touchingly direct way small children had with those they trusted on sight, he reached out his hand. Crowley hesitated for only a moment before taking it.

‘Come on then,’ he said, ‘We’ll go together.’

Not all of them were shy, some children bounded into the room with huge smiles, taking the stool next to Aziraphale and chatting away as if they were old friends. They barely needed Aziraphale’s involvement at all and when he handed them a present, off they skipped, delighted. After a few of these children, Aziraphale began to relax a little and found, to his very great surprise, that he was beginning to enjoy himself. It was, however, hard to enjoy anything about being accosted by a tiny tyrant.

‘I want an iPad. A new one. A better one than the one I’ve already got. And I want a smart watch, the same one as my friend Andy’s got. And I want…and I want…and I want…’

Aziraphale made no promises to these children and they were gifted the presents Anathema had bought for them, overly generous, lovely presents that Crowley had to be strongly dissuaded from cursing into the thing these little despots feared most.

Fortunately there weren’t many of these children. Some of the youngest ones came in with their parents. Aziraphale noticed that Crowley seemed to melt away into the shadows whenever this happened. Perhaps it was for this reason that Aziraphale preferred the slightly older, less confident children, the ones that needed Crowley’s coaxing to get them to ask for what they wanted, the ones that looked at him and saw not a demon but a magical creature of a different sort, one they believed in with all of their tiny hearts.

‘Last one,’ mouthed Anathema over a head of black curls. Aziraphale smiled his twinkling Father Christmas smile once more, listened to the wishes – “a book about kittens, please, and could I have some chocolate too?” – and bestowed upon the little girl a present which he strongly suspected Crowley was going to miracle into exactly what had been asked for the very instant she left them. And at last, it was finished. The ordeal was over.

‘How did I do?’ Aziraphale asked, feeling strangely exhausted for someone who had simply sat in a chair for an hour and a half.

‘I don’t think there’ll be any complaints,’ said Crowley, pulling his elf’s hat from his head and viewing it with utter disgust, ‘I’m changing.’ 

‘Wait.’

Crowley looked over at him. He had never looked so completely, utterly, irredeemably ridiculous, not even during the revolution in Paris, and yet Aziraphale wanted a moment, just one moment more, with his reluctant Christmas helper.

‘You haven’t told me what you want,’ he said, ‘For Christmas, I mean. I would dearly like to know.’

Crowley’s lips twitched.

‘Should I come and sit on your lap?’

‘Is that what you want?’

Crowley gave the matter some consideration. Aziraphale could not see his eyes, but he felt Crowley’s gaze over him nonetheless.

‘Not while you’re wearing that.’

He clicked his fingers before moving in closer. Back in his familiar clothing, Aziraphale felt any remaining tension melt away as Crowley’s fingers brushed his face, clean shaven once more. Even the reappearance of Crowley's hideous jumper could not dissuade Aziraphale from pulling him closer. 

‘Much better,’ Crowley said leaning in but not close enough for Aziraphale to kiss him.

‘So,’ said Aziraphale, fixating on Crowley’s beautiful mouth, ‘What is it that you want, my dear?’

Crowley smiled, confident that he had secured Aziraphale’s undivided attention.

‘Is it not obvious?’

‘I’d still like to hear you say it.’

‘Well, then.’ Crowley pressed a closed mouth kiss to Aziraphale’s lips, a kiss that was over too quickly. ‘I want you, angel.’

‘For Christmas?’

‘Forever.’

* * *

It was getting late and most of the families had already gone home. The Them were still lurking in corners, laughing behind their hands at the adults dancing. Anathema left them to it as she waved goodbye to the last child who had been to see Father Christmas, his hands still clutching the gift he had received like it was the most precious thing on earth. It was not, Anathema had noted, what she had purchased for the children. It seemed Aziraphale, Crowley or both had decided her presents were not going to cut it. Perhaps, Anathema thought, one of them would see fit to see to the ice situation whenever they decided to rejoin the party.

Once or twice she had been tempted to go back into the garden and see what was keeping them but whenever she so much as moved towards the back door, something urgent would need seeing to and she would forget, again, that there were two guests missing.

The music had been turned up, candles had been lit, the wine in full flow when Anathema felt a sense of peace settle over her. She had been clearing glasses from every available flat surface when her lingering worry that people weren’t having a good time lifted completely. Tidying no longer felt important as she realised she had not taken a moment to take in the happy faces of her friends and neighbours around her. Despite still being considered new to the village, jarringly American to some of the more conservative members of the community, not to mention an unapologetic occultist, she had managed to bring everyone together. Anathema was surveying her handy work, and feeling proud, when she spotted Aziraphale across the room.

Back in his familiar clothes, he was standing at the edge of the room, a nondescript presence to most perhaps but Anathema was powerfully aware of wave after wave of contentment and joy radiating from him, smoothing out the few patches of discord the night contained. A couple who had been arguing in hushed whispers suddenly noticed that they were standing under a sprig of mistletoe and began making out with passionate intensity. Adam’s father who had been about to send the Them home found himself caught by the hand by his pink faced wife and pulled into the middle of the room to dance, much to the Them’s collective relief and disgust. And Newt, who Shadwell had been lecturing for the past half an hour, managed to escape under the pretext of checking the condensed milk situation and popped up beside Anathema, threading his fingers through hers and holding on so tight that Anathema was compelled to promise not to leave him to get cornered like that again.

‘Do you want to dance?’ Newt asked, an unusual request from him as he was normally too conscious of his sharp elbows and terrible rhythm to risk public embarrassment.

‘Sure.’

Anathema was looping her arms around his neck just as Crowley entered the room carrying two glasses of champagne. Had she bought champagne? The question slid through Anathema’s mind and was promptly forgotten. She was looking up into Newt’s face when Aziraphale touched his glass to Crowley’s but still she felt the reverberation of something deep and eternal chime through her very soul.

‘It’s a great party,’ said Newt, perhaps misunderstanding the tears that had sprung into Anathema’s dark eyes.

‘Is it everything you were hoping for?’ he asked her, and Anathema heard in the question the promise to try and fix it if the answer was no. She smiled up at him, grateful that she had left the clearing up for later, and more grateful still that she had taken a chance on this strange, technologically challenged, former witchfinder.

‘It is,’ she said, rising up on her toes to kiss him, ‘Merry Christmas, honey.’

‘Merry Christmas, Anathema.’

Behind them, a demon was whispering something into the ear of an angel and as the angel laughed, all who heard it felt their own spirits lighten. And all were blessed, whether they knew it or not. 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @marbledwings


End file.
